


The Laws of Gods and Men as Retold By Yours Truly

by MissMarionette



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: All dogs are good dogs, Bathing/Washing, Episode: s04e06 The Laws of Gods and Men, Even when they're tearing out the throats of people trying to save Theon, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Mental Anguish, Mental Instability, My First Work in This Fandom, Racing thoughts, Ramsay has one boy dog sue me, Ramsay is his own warning, Reek is mentally panicking all the fucking time, Retelling, Satan bless Thramsay y'all, Stockholm Syndrome, To Be Edited, could someone please save this man PLEASE for fuck's sake, i just need to post this, it's not going to be despicably cruel, trying to capture that manic feeling of ideas going around too fast in your head
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 09:44:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13121154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMarionette/pseuds/MissMarionette
Summary: So basically I'm just retelling this episode with a bit 'more' than what was given to us. I really don't know what that even means.





	1. Chapter 1

Winter was coming, so it was even more of a blessing that Reek was able to bed in with the hunting hounds of his master. His kennel was no larger nor smaller than the dogs', no more comfortable nor uncomfortable than theirs, either. It hadn't been difficult to adjust to the straw bed or the iron bars. The panting and breathing of the dogs had been disruptive to his ability to sleep, and that lack of sleep had led to careless mistakes in the waking hours in his service to Ramsay. By now it had faded into the background as white noise to help him drift off. He still couldn't sleep, but the dogs were now no longer to blame. If he was honest with himself, they never had been.

More painful were the constant tests of his loyalty, as if Ramsay required blood and tears to be freshly shed in order to be assured of their validity. Reek had long since been worn down by these opportunities which offered to challenge Ramsay's authority: He could spot them and their not-so-obvious variations easily. Reek knew they were tricks, that he had to say no. They were all lies, they could not give what they offered - "freedom", "happiness", "mercy", "revenge". Words that were perhaps sweet for some but for him laid heavy in the back of his throat like lead and rang hollow in his ears.

So it was an ordinary night in the kennels, an ordinary night in a dark room of cold stone and flickering torch light. An ordinary night that left Reek curled up on his thin straw bed with the smell of his old sweat and the musk of the dogs that served as fellow tenants filling his nose. It did not bother him as much as an average person, mostly because Reek was not a person. Ramsay said it himself, and thus it was so.

The door to the kennels creaked open, a jarring squealing sound that allowed the faint cacophony of the fort's alarms to drift in. Reek remained still even as his ears filled with the sound of several pairs of feet and the barking of the dogs. He needed sleep, it was likely a drill for the Dreadfort. Lord Father Roose Bolton saw to it that emergency simulations were run once every two months.

The footsteps were quick, which was strange given that no one in this place, save for Lord Ramsay and Lord Roose, was ever inclined to treat Reek like a person worthy of accounting for. Something was different.

The footsteps stopped outside of his cage and as he sat up, the lock on the door was cracked open.

"No." he whispered. This wasn't right.

Eyes widened in fear as he began to whisper "no" like a chant. The people who had opened his cage were unfamiliar. A masculine woman, flanked by several men, held out her gloved hand to him, brusque. "Out, out! Come on, we're here to save you, Theon! It's me, Yara! Your sister!"

Reek shook his head and pushed back as far as he could against the walls of his cage. Half-week-old scars across his back set themselves aflame. The pain was nothing compared to what would happen should these people get their hands on him. Ramsay had even hired a woman to fake being a soldier in order to fool him, as if oddities would somehow make the illusion more believable.

The howling of the dogs in the cages were deafening thunder that jarred Reek right to his bruised bones, but he remained resolute in his decision to stay put. "No, I'm staying. I'm staying. Tell him I'm staying!"

Sometimes it was simply a matter of giving an answer that the players would relay to Ramsay. He hoped it was one of those times. There were at least five including this woman impatiently reaching inside to grab at him like he was a rabbit stuck in its hutch. "Theon, you're safe, we're going to get you out. We're taking you home!"

"I'm not Theon! You have the wrong person!" They needed to leave. He had given his answer and yet they were still here in front of him! If they didn't leave -

"My Lady!" a man behind her shouted, "Grab him or the whole bloody fort will be on us!"

The woman grunted out "I fucking know! Help me!" and hands clamped down on his bony wrist and ankle as she dragged him to the kennel's entrance like a ragdoll. Half-broken nails scraped against the stone floor and slipped uselessly through the straw as Reek tried desperately to remain rooted within his small hovel.

"Leave me be! I'm not Theon! You can't fool me! Tell him, tell master I'm loyal to him! I won't go with you!" Reek was pushed out and entered the hands of the woman and another soldier. They gripped him firmly but carefully, so confident in their ability to hold onto him and yet seemingly so concerned with him not injuring himself as he struggled. 

His throat had already been scraped raw from wailing. It had been dry before from going for hours without water but now it felt as if it was ready to split and crack. Guilt supplanted the secret relief at being forcefully muffled by the woman's hand.

And then like a prayer answered by the Seven Hells, his master appeared to save him.

Ramsay quickly tromped down the stairs with a handful of Bolton men at his shoeless heels. Relief and dread washed over Reek in equal measure.

Ramsay was shirtless and covered in cuts and abrasions. Despite the excited spring in his step and grin he sported as he leveled himself across from the closest kidnapper, Reek could only mentally weep at the sight of his master hurt. They had hurt him. They had hurt him to get to Reek. Reek had somehow inspired these people to find him and take him and _hurt his master_ to do so! They would die and Reek would be punished for causing all of this - !

Reek's head began to pound. Ramsay said something and the fight began as the two small groups converged. The barking of the dogs only increased in fervor, mixing with the grunts and cries of the fighters before their audience.

Reek needed to help. The only way he could help was to make sure Ramsay didn't have to go chasing after him.

The woman seemed to sense that her window of opportunity had become infinitesimally small, yet she still tugged on Reek's arm as if she still had a chance. Reek answered her hopes by sinking his teeth deep into her hand. Blood was tasted, the bones of her hand flexed and jittered beneath his teeth as she tried to pry him off. When Reek found all hands had left his person, he let go and skittered back into the cage.

The battle was bloody and death groans filled the air but Ramsay was not touched by any of his opponents. He leapt and lunged and sliced and stabbed like a violent dancer as his blade cut across and through flesh easily. All the while, he was laughing. His pants were black and loose, but something thick seemed to press against the fabric from within.

Eventually the parties had rotated their positions within the room. The woman's party closest to the door with mere footfalls away from their only exit. Ramsay and his last few men confidently stood at the ready by the kennels with the corpses of foe and ally strewn across the floor.

Reek closed his eyes and gripped the bars of his cage, his cage, _his cage_ so tight that they immediately began to cut into his fingers. The battle was almost over, almost over, almost over.

Sound seemed to wash away, blurring together into a smear of noise that could only be discerned as having a beginning and end. The distinct sound of a key turning the heavy tumbler of a cage lock and a kennel door swinging open pierced through it all.

Barking. Ramsay's laughter. The clanking of metal swords and armor and cursing as the kidnappers raced as fast as they could up the small steps. 

A man was caught and dragged down those steps. Reek heard the clanking of his weapon and the shivering of his chainmail as he hit the floor.  

Broken teeth sunk deep into chapped lips and a soft whine was made in his throat. Almost over.

Snarling, Ramsay's screams of "Rip 'em! Go!" followed by the dying bellows of a man being torn to pieces. 

Reek was always made to look at these executions performed by the dogs, and he was not about to be punished for failing to do so this time of all times. He opened his eyes, and inhaled deeply.

He caught the tail end of the one-dog massacre and when Ruthger lifted his head from the throat of the dead Greyjoy, Reek could see his dark muzzle was blackened and damp with blood.

Ramsay fell upon him immediately, kneeling down to squish his jowls. "There you are, Ruthger! Who's a good boy?"

Ruthger barked triumphantly. "Of course you are, my smart boy! Aww, it looks like the other Greyjoys don't want to play with you..."

The hound growled. "I know, they're so rude! Why don't you teach them some manners?" 

With a quick "go go go!", Ruthger took off, bounding up the steps two at a time. The other dogs whined and scratched at their cage doors. 

Ramsay stood and turned to the other unattended hounds, lips puckered like a mother trying to placate a fussy toddler. "Oh I know, pups, I know.." Absently, he ran his hand across his chest, smearing blood across skin. 

Reek would probably have to clean him. He would be glad to bathe his master for the risk he took in saving him..he was so grateful, but..but did Lord Ramsay think he had tried to escape? 

No, he hadn't - he didn't want - he told them to - !

A cough lurched from his mouth in place of a sob.

And in that moment, the sound of bare feet slapping against the blood-soaked stone floor was absolutely deafening.


	2. Chapter 2

Reek hunched against the inner bars of his cage, willing himself to _stop shaking_ , to stop wincing at every footstep, to stop stop stop -

Ramsay casually addressed the remaining men as he sidled up to the lock-broken cage. "Men, I wish to be alone with my pets. Make yourselves useful and clear out whatever Greyjoys may have been left behind. I sense this little rescue mission required backup. Check the shorelines first, burn the ships, reel them in. I haven't filleted a squid in quite awhile. 

Maybe I could start with that tough bitch first..." he finished to himself.

Reek's strained eyes chose to focus on the blood puddled before him on the damp, cold stone. His doing and  _His_ doing. He breathed shakily through his nose because at that moment his jagged teeth were firmly embedded into his lip lower. He did not want to greet his master with his mouth full of dirty blood. It would be unsightly.

When pale bare feet slid into view, Reek held his breath.

"Those raper pirates entered my house without proper invitation. Of course, a lack of manners is to be expected.." A pause, and then Ramsay's tone turned dark. "Go."

The characteristic grunt of "yes, my lord" and the sound of clinking armor and heavy feet up stone steps and through the narrow passageway cut at the edges of Reek's ears. The hounds had settled in again but were not entirely stripped of disappointment. Their snuffling and quiet "whuff"s under their breath were voiced in an otherwise silent kennel.

Reek knew that these dogs were the only underlings under Ramsay's control that were allowed to express their feelings honestly. They remained loyal to their master, as did Reek, but the dogs...they were not beaten for whining, never severely, never for extended periods of time. They were not given impossible tasks that would only result in punishment for failure. They were not _tortured_ for amusement. Personalities were still somewhat discernible between them. Ruthger was eager, Holly was quiet, Foukes was playful; Foukes seemed to like Reek best, always liked to sniff his armpits, his neck, his crotch.

 _'At least someone here thinks you smell good.'_ Ramsay said as Reek sat forlorn and nervous in the muck while Foukes' bloody snout poked his cheek and nudged at his shaking, mangled hands for praising head scratches. Holly and Ruthger sat resolute at either side of Ramsay's heels while Ramsay himself stood before Reek with a sneer, folded arms, and half-empty quiver. _'Of course, dogs have much lower standards for that sort of thing.'_

The unbridled joy that could be seen in Ramsay's eyes-like-ice when interacting with his dogs was very rarely afforded to Reek in the same way. The companionship, the praise, the pride he had for them in the aftermath of having followed his orders exactly, when they did what he wanted and produced the most optimal results: Suffering, agony, a painful and bloody death...

Like a flip of a coin, Ramsay's expectations for Reek and what pleased him seemed counterintuitive. He wanted Reek to obey, to be loyal, to be meek and weak and bleak, but Reek knew..he just knew that it wasn't what made Ramsay truly, truly, truly happy. Not in the way that the hounds made him happy. How Reek made Ramsay happy was loyalty, yes, loyalty yes yes loyalty but also failure, pitiful failure. Punishment and pain and beating and whipping and stripping and clipping and r i p p i n g -

"Hello, Reek."

Reek started, tried to swallow, and found his throat had all but closed up. He coughed at the floor, bobbed his head quick and low in greeting. What had just happened...he couldn't let it distract him.

Master's voice was light, soothing. He could undoubtedly see how terrified Reek was, but when wasn't Reek terrified?

Needling pain erupted from the newly-formed lesions on his cracked lips when he opened his mouth to respond. A rasp was all he could muster. He hoped he was loud enough to hear. "M-Master."

Those pale, bloodied feet were then obscured by canvased knees as Ramsay casually squatted down to Reek's level. Reek tried so very hard to just focus on them instead then, and not the lower center that they led the eye to, not the shadow of the master's half-hard cock straining against those pants.

Bloodshed and screaming made master hard. Reek's tears made master hard. Reek's pleas for mercy either made master hard or irritated and hard. There were only three people in the world that could deal with Ramsay when he was like this, high off the scent of blood and fresh kill.

Myranda wasn't here and neither was Lord Bolton, which only left..  
  
Ramsay's face slipped into view and Reek had no choice but to focus on only him. Only the brightness in his deep set eyes, only the straight-toothed grin framed by clear-cut laugh lines and a wide clean jaw, only a mop of dark curly hair gradually outgrowing its original cropping.

A man and yet so much like a child in appearance and expression. A child and yet so much like a man in word and deed.

The bright eyes blinked, the mouth twisted into an expression quite like a boy masking his inclination towards mischief. "Re-e-ek," he said in a singsong voice, "look at me, sweet."

A hand gripped Reek's shoulder and shook him once for emphasis. Reek's head bobbled violently forward and back as he remained pliant under Ramsay's touch. No resistance, none.

Sweet. Ramsay only used that word when no punishment would follow. He had called him such only four times in the past.

That pattern Reek clung to as he craned his neck to look into Ramsay's face. His eyes widened in horror at the blood spattered across the folded torso of his lord and and by the time their eyes met he was shaking.

Ramsay's grin grew impossibly wider and his other hand came to cup his cheek. "Oh, what's wrong, Reek? The bad people are gone. Look around you, they're dead. Look."

He obeyed, turned and stared at the carnage, Bolton and monsters lying in their own blood...

Two hands held his face. "Now to me." Two hands capable of crushing him like powder.

His lip trembled, a pang in his chest began to thump in time with his shallow breaths. His fingers numb, so tightly curled around the cage bars, the one solid thing that tethered him to _here_.

That and -

Ramsay's grin settled into a contented smile. "Reek Reek Reek," he chided, "Why are you still shaking?" His brow dropped into a furrow of concern. A lie but not a lie. "Tell me."

Reek's lips parted and no sound came out. He closed them. Tried again. "M-Ma-Master..y-y-you're h-hurt." he croaked. Tears he hadn't realized were present in his eyes then began to slip down his grimy cheeks. "Y-you g-got hurt, kkilling - ki-killing them and R-Reek - Reek told them to leave! I told them to!" You to-told me to s-s-stay in the ca-ca-cage unless y-you got me! I didn't for - I didn't forget! They told me - they told me - told me..told..me..."

Warm, sweaty palms began to squish his thin, pinched face around. Ramsay cocked his head in curiosity. "To-to-told you wh-what, Reek?" he asked, stuttering with the dimness of a simpleton.

Squeeze, knead, squeeze.

Reek couldn't say, his head had gone blank. Master was not scolding Reek for being hurt on his behalf. His concerns were not shared by his master. Perhaps the injuries were not serious. Perhaps it didn't matter what the kidnappers had told him.

Before Reek could even deign to answer his lord's question, Ramsay released him and settled himself back on his haunches, cheeky smile gracing his lips once more. The hilt of his favorite knife prodded itself into his toned, blood-streaked stomach. "Reek, look at me, I'm not hurt. You see this blood?" A hand gestured at the mess. "It isn't mine. You should know me better than that by now, you little fool."

"I came here to make sure they hadn't hurt you," he continued, "and now that I see you're as well as someone as wretched as you can ever hope to be, I will take my leave."

Ramsay stood up. Reek watched as he glanced down at himself before proceeding to lick his thumb and rub out a short streak of blood that arced over his navel.

"Our locksmith was killed tonight - " Reek winced and ducked his head. That was his fault.

" - and a new one won't arrive for another two days or so. Reek, you will continue to spend the night in the kennel as if the lock wasn't broken. You cannot leave unless you are told to. You cannot open the door by yourself, even then." A beat and then a tone of warning: "Do you understand me?"

Reek bowed his head. "Y-Yes Master, I do. I do."

"Good, now scamper back into bed, go on."

Reek crawled back into his small prison on aching, bony knees and numb fingers. He could feel Ramsay's sharp gaze bore into his ragged back, could sense the curious animal stares of his furry cell mates hold just as strong against his profile. When he finally collapsed into the corner with the most hay, Ramsay was peering at him through the entrance. He gave Reek a small wave, and Reek dared to grimace back. "There we go! Such a good dog." There was the metal groan of the kennel door swinging shut. The vision of Ramsay was now cut up by the bars but his smile and eyes could not be completely obscured. "I'll have someone fetch you in the morning. Sweet dreams, Reek."

He waited ten minutes or thereabouts after his lord left before laying himself down on his straw bed. He wiped at his eyes and let out a shaky breath before hesitantly closing his eyes. Tomorrow. He would come for him tomorrow. Tomorrow he would need to explain what actually happened. He hadn't been able to, he had been so overcome with the fear of his master not believing him.

But he was loyal. Loyal Reek. He was loyal. He wouldn't ever - he wouldn't -

In the end, it was the understated mixture of the hounds' soft snoring and his own fatigue that eventually lulled Reek into something remotely resembling sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hot off the presses, not that anyone cares. I'm not continuing Game of Thrones until I finish this dumb thing. I don't even know if it's good, only that I have to write it or I will die.


End file.
